


Brothers Or Not

by daftpen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Sex, Smut, Wincest - Freeform, drunk!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daftpen/pseuds/daftpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam isn't surprised when Dean returns to the hotel drunker than usual, but nothing could prepare him for what Dean has to say. Co-authored with JenKristo on FF.net. She's Dean, I'm Sam. Enjoy the smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean walked down the hallway of the hotel with a little more than just swagger in his step. He was swaying, just a tiny little bit. He had a feeling like he had forgotten something important, but he couldn’t figure out what. When he reached their door he fumbled with the key before unlocking it, his bagged bottle of whiskey under one arm. It sloshed around, and he hoped he had tightened the cap well enough.

Finally the door gave way and he entered, rubbing his nose as he looked inside. Sam was sitting at the table, working on his computer. When Sam looked up at him he finally remembered what it was.

“Shit,” he said, “I forgot dinner.”

He pushed the door closed and went to his bed, setting the paper bag with his liquor on the night stand. He struggled to kick off his shoes, doing everything he could not to look at his brother. He knew what Sam was probably thinking, that he’d gone and indulged in the bottle too much tonight, but if only he knew why. Fuck… if God was alive, he’d hope to God Sam would never find out why.

Sam really wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time Dean had stumbled in, having neglected something semi-important because he was drinking. He should have seen this coming, really. He thought of making a comment on Dean not having any luck with the women at the bar tonight, but decided against it. He felt a little guilty, thinking of him that way. As his immature brother who liked to get drunk and take girls home. Dean was a lot more than that, and if he was this drunk already, it was probably because he was having a bad day. Dean had a lot of those lately.

He watched Dean kick off his boots, waiting for him to turn around so he could make a face that would tell Dean it was okay, that he forgave him. Dean didn't like when Sam was wordy. He'd just call him a girl and broaden his shoulders like he learned to from John. But Dean didn't turn around, and he needed to break the silence and pretend everything was okay, because that's what a Winchester does. They pretend.

“It's fine, I'm not really hungry.” he said, glancing at the paper bag shaped like a bottle. “You gonna bring that over here and share or what?”

Dean sighed. On one hand he felt a small amount of relief that Sam hadn’t decided to start something, on the other he felt even worse that Sam just put up with his shit. If he had started an argument, at least Dean could have been mad at him for something.

He glanced at the bottle, remembering another problem. But he supposed Sam would find out anyway. Maybe it would provoke him. “Yeah, ‘course,” he mumbled. Dean stood, taking the bottle and pulling off the paper as he shuffled bare-footed over to the table. It clanked a little too hard when he set it down, the alcohol sloshing around inside. There it was, way, way too much missing for a drink he had just bought. Dean looked off at the framed picture on the wall, and then the ceiling, and everything but Sam’s face.

Sam watched him, waited once again for Dean to look at him. It was a shorter wait this time as he realized Dean was in one of his self-loathing moods that he could only get out of eventually by drinking himself further into first. He looked around, expecting to see a shot glass within arm's reach, as was the norm for them. Not finding one, he picked up the bottle, unscrewed the crooked lid, and took a swig, making a sour face at the burn.

He looked back at Dean, not sure what to expect, only to see he was staring at a moth on the wall under a lamp. Dean looked rough, as he did more often than not these days, but more than just the usual I'm-tired-and-drunk-and-I-hate-myself rough. It was the I'm-trying-to-drink-my-problems-away rough. Which only happened when Dean was lingering on something.

Cas had flown off two weeks ago and they hadn't heard anything, and Dean always got a little grumpy when Cas did that, so Sam didn't think it was much of a stretch to assume that's what his brother was dwelling on. He wanted to ask, and had for a while. At the very least he wanted some closure. Something that would be a solid 'No' to the other big question he kept in the back of his mind. He'd dance around it first to preserve Dean's dignity. “Is something up? I know Cas hasn't been around for a couple weeks.” he says, leaving it open for interpretation and looking at Dean to gauge his reaction.

Dean relaxed a little when Sam took a swig, and eased himself into the other chair. He had a feeling Sam was trying to make good, and it was always hard to stay angry when Sam was this way. He blamed the psychology crap Sam learned in college. If he ever found out Sam was taking tips from some psych book, he’d knock him into Tuesday.

He leaned back in the chair, taking the bottle when Sam was done and downing a swig. “Cas?” he replied, not sure how they’d come upon that topic. “What’s Cas have to do with…” he paused, his gaze turning from the wood-paneled wall to his brother. “You know, my mental wellbeing is not directly tied to that… that coat-wearing… him.” He stared at the ceiling. What a drunken thing to say. Shit. After a moment he looked back at Sam, curious. “But really, you always assume its Cas. I mean, sometimes it is, he can get under your skin sometimes with the disappearing acts, but you really think he’s my default mood-killer?”

Ok so maybe Sam was wrong? Or maybe Dean's just being defensive. Either way, he presses, because Dean's drunk and if he's ever going to get him to talk about something like his feelings, this is his chance. He's already opened up the gate. “Okay, well if it's not him, what is it? Because you can't just bottle everything up and then try to drink it away.” He pauses, noticing the clench of Dean's jaw. He takes another swallow of whiskey. “Whatever it is, you can keep it to yourself if you want, but I'm... I don't want you to feel like you have to keep things from me. That's all.” Which is true, but also makes him a total hypocrite. His eyes linger on Dean for a second before turning back to his laptop and pretending to focus on the screen.

Dean laughed. “I don’t have to keep things… ha… haha..!” He laughed again at the sheer absurdity of not keeping this from Sam. He stopped when Sam stared at him. “Sorry.” He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Sam finding out? Now that would be… well, they had recovered from a hell of a lot in the past, including Hell itself, and somehow even that would pale in comparison to just how badly this would destroy their relationship.

He stayed quiet for a moment before deciding what to say, which wasn’t nearly as safe a topic as he intended. “Remember when we were stuck on that movie set about our lives? You said… you said, ‘We don’t mean the same thing here. We aren’t even brothers here’. I think about that a lot. I think about Cas and how much he means to us, and he’s just an honorary Winchester. Hell, we’ve got a blood brother stuck in the cage, and we like Cas better than him. No offense to him. But… but anyway, I think about what you said, and I think you’re wrong. If you and I ever ended up in the same place, brothers or not, it’d be us against the world.” Dean trailed his gaze over the table and up to meet Sam’s before looking away again.

Sam wasn't really sure how to take the things Dean was saying. He huffed out a laugh and shook his head, torn between disbelief and confusion. “What are you even saying Dean? That you wish we weren't brothers?” he paused, possibly in hopeful realization of what that could mean, but shook it off quickly. No, Dean was just drunk. Drunk and talking nonsense and if they finished this bottle he probably wouldn't even remember it in the morning. “I don't know what you're talking about, because if we weren't brothers then I would hope you'd be on the other side of the fucking world, Dean. Because here, I all do is let you down.” Sam recapped it all in his head, reminding himself of why Dean would be better off without him all together. Getting Dean sent to hell, Ruby, demon blood, Lucifer, but worst of all, were the things Dean didn't know. The things Sam would never tell him. The one burden he could keep to himself, and off of his brother's shoulders.

Dean had been taking a drink when Sam pulled the ‘let you down’ thing on him, and Dean pulled the bottle away from his mouth so quickly that he spilled some on himself. He wiped his face with a sleeve and pointed a finger at Sam. “You don’t let me down, Sam, you never have. It’s not like anyone else has to deal with the crap we deal with. I’d be suspicious if we didn’t hit some bumps in the road. If you’re feeling bad, it’s because you feel like you let yourself down… or something. But not me.”

Dean nodded, confirming to himself that he was right and that the argument was over. He tilted his head to the side as he thought about what Sam had said, and continued. “You… would you really want me to be on the other side of the world?”

Sam sighed. Of course. Dean was allowed to hate himself but Sam was always perfect. Sam always had an excuse, a reason. Even though he was ten times the fuck up Dean is. He shook his head. “No. I didn't mean that I just... I'm tired of feeling like you're just putting up with me. I want to be more than what I am but I've just made so many damn mistakes, Dean. I just want you to be happy, and if I had to leave for that to happen, I would, in a heartbeat.” He took the whiskey out of Dean's hand, taking two swigs in a row. “I just wish things were different sometimes, you know?”

Dean was feeling the drink now, feeling it tingling in his fingertips, feeling the heat in his chest and the dull numbness in his lips. His head felt heavy and his body felt heavy too and it all felt better than being sober and cold and logical.

He crossed his arms and slumped against the table a bit, staring ahead of him. “Just… just imagine me driving in the Impala on my own.” He thought for a moment, imagining it too. “I’d… I’d be calling about leads that were no good, bothering Bobby for no reason, just making phone calls because I’d want to talk. Yeah, that’d be you gone, and just the start. There’s a lot of things I wish were different, but you’re not one of them.”

He looked at Sam, and didn’t look away. Sam looked nice tonight. Sam looked like the cogs were really turning in there. Dean turned away quickly and stood up, staggering just a little as he went to the bed. He pulled his bag out from under the bed and took out a clean shirt, fumbling to take off the old one. “Damn it,” he growled, trying to get his elbow out of the sleeve. “…so fucking drunk…” He pulled the shirt off roughly and shoved it into the bag before replacing it, his heart beginning to hammer with Sam’s silence. Sam needed to hurry up and change the subject.

Sam closed his laptop a little harder than he had meant to and picked up the bottle again, finishing it off. Whatever was bothering Dean tonight must really be something, because it wasn't like him be so ambiguous. It was starting to frustrate Sam a little how he was the one dancing around the subject now. Maybe it really was Cas and Dean was trying to throw him off. “So that's it? Are you just gonna leave me with some vague answer as to why you've got a bug up your ass?” Okay, maybe Sam was letting the alcohol take over just a little now. He took a calming breath before speaking again. “Could we at least, just one time, actually have a conversation that doesn't end in us fighting?”

He turned more in Dean's direction, looking and meeting his eye, “And what is it that's so funny about not keeping things from me? Sure I've hidden some stuff- big stuff- but only because I was trying to help, Dean. Only because I thought I was doing good. We agreed after that, no more secrets.” He faltered a bit at that. But then reminded himself that whatever he felt for Dean was an exception. There's no reason for that to ever have to be out in the open. No one needs that hanging around. “So, please, tell me, what's so fucking secret, Dean, if this isn't about Cas?”

Dean’s eyes widened, angry but not toward Sam. “Whoa, back the hell up. When did this become a fight? We weren’t fighting, according to me!” Dean stood up, staggering half way back to Sam before holding onto the chair back for support. His mouth twitched, a dam built up over all he wanted to say, and pieces were starting to break off from the pressure. “What if everything… us… what if everything we have left is built up on secrets? What if that’s the truth? Huh?” Dean began to shout full force. “How’s that news for you? I am lying to you every day! Lying with my damn mouth closed! And it ain’t about Cas, I’ll tell you that!”

This wasn't like Dean. Something was definitely wrong, and Sam could feel that he was almost there. Whatever it was had built up in Dean like he always let things do, and tonight he had reached his breaking point. Sam's heart stuttered, the words Dean was shouting at him hitting a little too close to home. Way too close. Maybe Dean felt the same way. No, he couldn't. It was too fucked up and wrong and Dean had never been like that. Dean had always been the good one, the right one. The righteous man.

Sam just sat for a moment, a bit stunned and once again unable to catch his brother's eye. He had to approach it carefully and ambiguously to give Dean some room. Or else he'd shut down and Sam might not ever know what the hell he was talking about. He spoke gently this time, trying to calm both himself and his brother. “Okay, so... It's not Cas. Okay. I'm sorry. But you wanna tell me what it is, then? If it's so big that 'it's everything we have left', don't you think I should be in on it?” Sam winced, he hoped he wasn't prodding Dean too hard.

“No, you should definitely not be in on it.” Dean said, and then growled in frustration. “I…” He turned away, taking careful steps across the room and raising his hands to hook behind his neck as he thought. Even his thoughts swayed a little now. “I don’t know when this happened. It was one of those slow things that you don’t notice until it’s already a part of you.”

Dean let his arms fall and he moved to the dresser, leaning back against it. His hands fumbled at his sides as he tried to hold on, head swimming. “I even asked Cas to fix me. I asked him to get it out of me. And you know what he said? He said I’d already asked him before and that if I was asking again then it obviously hadn’t worked.” The walls were cracking; he could already feel it like a wall of water collapsing forward, unstoppable. “I think about us, about you and… I wonder if it would have been different if we weren’t brothers.”

Well damn. If that wasn't a slap to the face. Sam felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Dean 'thinks about them'? If they weren't- then- oh God. Sam could feel his gut twist and sink, but at the same time his heart sped up, nervous but hopeful. Dean wouldn't have asked for Cas' help if he was having platonic thoughts, and that implication was the concrete and undeniable proof that Sam needed. He searched for something to say, anything to tell Dean that it was okay, that he knew exactly what he was feeling. But even if they did feel the same way, that didn't mean it was right. It would never be right. But then again, nothing in their lives had ever been normal or right or okay, he supposed.

Every word he reached for slipped away. He couldn't decide on the right thing to say before it was coming out of his mouth. “I know. I mean, Dean... Christ. Me too. I think about it, too. I mean, if we weren't brothers.” Although he knew that it didn't matter that they were blood, not to him. He didn't care now, but he didn't want to scare Dean away, either. He stood awkwardly, wanting to go to his brother but not trusting himself, keeping one hand on the chair. There was a chance he'd made a mistake. He looked at Dean's face, waiting for something. Eye contact, a look, a sigh, anything that would give him that final answer.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to go through and fix all the italics but I've probably been missing a lot. Enjoy anyway.

Dean, who had been staring at the carpet, looked sideways at his brother. His brain sped over possibilities of this being some kind of hallucination or Sam being a skin walker, but he knew that wasn’t really it. He was in a hotel room, standing here, leaning against the dresser, listening to Sam say something he’d never, ever expected as a possibility. No, there was no way.

His body felt heavy. He felt glued in place. “Sam, I need you to come here.”

Sam practically gulped. This was it, either his sickest thoughts were coming to life before him or Dean just wanted to punch him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before covering the space between them in three too-fast strides. He lingered a foot in front of his brother, almost toe-to-toe. He swayed a bit on his feet, just a little back and forth brought on by alcohol-infused nervousness. He didn't want to push too much too far too fast. He reached out and gingerly took Dean's wrist. “Dean?”

Dean looked at his wrist, at Sam’s hand around it and his pulse began to pound, his breaths so deep he was sure Sam could see them. “You said, ‘me too’.  You said you ‘think about it’…” Slowly he forced his eyes up to look at Sam, wide and unbelieving. “Right now, I need to hear you say what exactly it is you think about.”

Sam let out a shaky breath. This was it then. Well imagine that. He raised his other hand, resting it on the side of his brother's head. Dean's hair felt so nice under his fingers. Soft and warm, and he swore he could feel Dean's pulse in the heel of his hand. He really did try to think of something to say, anything really, but he'd just trip over his words, and right now he just needed something solid and final. Something that Dean wouldn't- couldn't- misunderstand. He slid his other hand to Dean's elbow, and with that, he ducked down those couple inches and pressed his mouth to Dean's firmly. He didn't linger. He pulled back waiting for his brother to react.

Dean’s heart leapt into his chest in the fraction of a second that Sam’s mouth pressed against his. His mind raced, ‘Oh God this can’t be real, no, it’s happening, this is real, oh god, fuck, there’s no turning back, he knows, he knows and he’s kissing you, oh god, Jesus fuck, son of a b-’ And as soon as Sam pulled away the flood of thoughts abruptly stopped and he just stared, utterly shocked.

His ability to move returned before he could speak or think straight and he grabbed two handfuls of Sam’s coat like he had during too many fights, the way he used to shove him off, but he pulled him in good and hard, stretching upward and crushing his mouth against Sam’s. His desperate, intoxicated fingers fumbled around to get a better grip, his short nails scratching his brother’s coat as he gripped and pulled and curved his back to get them closer. He worked his mouth against the others’, catching his brother’s lip between his teeth. With his mouth, with his fingertips, he was doing everything he could to hold on. If this was happening then it was going to fucking happen. He felt like he was on speed and if he stopped it would be the end of it all, and he couldn’t let it stop.

Sam had no trouble reciprocating. He could almost feel Dean's need like it was a physical object, and it hit him like a sack of bricks. He kissed back with just as much force, relief flooding him. It was intense, their teeth touched a couple of times but he didn't let up. He guessed they had both been holding this in for a long time. He felt Dean's grip ever-tighter on his jacket as his own hand gripped the base of Dean's skull as the other pushed two layers at a time off of his brother's shoulder. It felt like they were pressed for time, the way they were going, and it took every ounce of will he had in him to separate.

He pulled away, just barely, forehead grinding against Dean's. “Here,” he breathed out, “take this off.” Sam shoved the top two layers from his brother's shoulders, not sparing any time to be delicate about it. They met in a couple more needy kisses as he helped Dean shuck his own jacket off, flinging it God-knows-where, and then he was sitting on the edge of a bed, his hands pulling Dean down with him.

Reality felt even more ridiculously unreal when Sam started pulling at Dean’s clothes. Oh god, Dean’s stomach felt weightless. And Sam was pulling him over to the… oh god yes, yes.  Sam was on the bed, shifting upward and Dean relished the feeling of the mattress sinking under their weight. He bent forward and kissed him again. God, did he want to take Sam’s clothes off. There was nothing either of them hadn’t seen a hundred times before, but this time he was going to get to put his hands and his mouth on him and yes, yes, yes…

Dean put his hands to work at the buttons on Sam’s shirt as he kissed him. He worked and worked on the top button until Sam finally came to his assistance, artfully undoing each one as if it was nothing. Dean was happy to leave him at the task, moving his mouth to Sam’s jaw and down to suck on his neck. God, he fucking tasted good. He always had that good, familiar smell and now Dean knew what he tasted like.

Sam was a little blown away at how quickly they were moving, and by how eager Dean was. If only he had known sooner. His shirt was finally pushed off of his shoulders, leaving them both in t-shirts. Still too much clothing. His hands were roaming all over Dean, his hair, shoulders, back, thick thighs and perfect hips, pushing grabbing and tugging at Dean's shirt. Dean was sucking at his neck and it was driving him crazy. He wanted this to last forever. “Wait, hey- slow down.” he managed, breathing heavily. “Here.” he did a little maneuvering and took off his own shirt before lying back on the bed, bringing Dean in to follow his lips as he laid down.

Dean’s eyes slid up over Sam’s stomach and chest and his bare throat, wanting to touch and bite into everything, but he resisted the urge. Sam was kissing him and he returned it, eventually moving back to the reddened patch on his neck. He took a long, sucking kiss from it and paused, resting his mouth against Sam’s neck and breathing in his smell. His hands were slowing too, one elbow propped against the mattress and the other rubbing slowly up and down Sam’s bare chest. He planted another unhurried kiss on Sam’s neck. “I’m going slow now,” he murmured. And it was fine, this could last forever and it would be fine with him.

Sam had told him to slow down, and for a moment he’d been afraid that he was changing his mind, but the worry was gone with Sam’s t-shirt on the floor. Still, it wasn’t a bad idea to slow it down. “You know, if Gabe wasn’t dead I’d guess he was playing head games with me now. This is pretty crazy, huh?”

Sam gave him a dry chuckle. “Tell me about it.” he said, stroking Dean's arm, his shoulder, his back. He kissed him a couple times, more like a brush of the lips, really, before guiding him off to one side and propping up on his elbow, thanking God-or something- that he'd taken his boots off sometime earlier. He felt like a teenager again as he worked the hem of his brother's shirt up to paw at his ribs and chest, kissing Dean deep and slow. He brought his hand to rest on the buckle of Dean's belt before hesitating and pulling out of the kiss. He met Dean's eyes, as if asking a question that he wasn't ready to actually say, but seemed to change his mind. “How long?”

Dean melted a little as he felt Sam reach under his shirt. It was all so unreal. He looked back at him and then let his eyes stray as he thought. “I don’t… I don’t know if I could say for sure.” He looked up at Sam, who was waiting and listening. He sighed, still a little uncomfortable discussing it after so long holding it in. “I think… it was a lot longer than I would admit to myself. It would happen in these random moments. You would say something great and I would look at you and jokingly think, ‘I could just kiss that guy’, and after that I’d think it was fucking weird and shake it off. And sometimes you’d look at me and I’d think you were looking at me like, you know, and then I’d really feel like I was losing my shit. Just absolutely losing it.” Dean blinked and looked at Sam, eyes narrowing. “You were… you could have been... Were you?”

It was a little embarrassing how quickly Sam responded. “All the fucking time.” He shook his head and rested it on Dean's shoulder. “All the time. And I had no clue, I didn't even think it was possible that you- you know.” He stroked Dean's skin above his jeans and planted a few firm, wet kisses to his neck. “I just knew you could never find out.” He said softly, then, with a smile, “Guess that worked out, huh?”

“Yeah pretty well,” Dean said dryly. “Plenty of time torturing ourselves when we could have been… here. Speaking of which…” He caught Sam’s wrist, lightly tugging it off his lower stomach. “You’re…” He looked away, lips in a hard line. “God it’s freaking weird talking about this. I’ve been keeping it in the back of my mouth forever and… heh. Well,” he glanced sideways at Sam. “you’re driving me nuts with that hand.”

Sam smiled wide and easy. He had been waiting for the situation to feel wrong. Waiting for the sick, guilty feeling in his stomach. But where there should be a weight, there were fucking butterflies. He was almost freaking out about how they weren't freaking out. It was just so easy to be with Dean like this. A little awkward, sure, it was new territory for them but it didn't feel /wrong/ like he thought it would. Like it should.

“Yeah? Well you've been driving me nuts for a hell of a long time.” He put his palm flat on Dean's skin, trailing it up his body, bringing the shirt along with it, feeling the contrast between the solid muscle of his pectorals and the softness of his abdomen, broken in two by a trail of fine hairs. His shoulder was getting tired from holding his weight but he ignored the discomfort in favor of ducking down to kiss at Dean's neck once again.

Dean closed his eyes, enjoying it. “Jesus,” he groaned as Sam’s fingers brushed along the edge of his jeans. His lips parted as he took in a slow breath. He pushed against Sam’s shoulder, encouraging him onto his back. Once again they were in the position they’d been in before. Dean straddled his younger brother, straitening upward as he clumsily pulled off the shirt he’d put on just a short while ago. He was still feeling the effects of the alcohol, and concentrated to complete the task.  Finally he dropped it on the bed beside them and leaned down, kissing Sam’s mouth. He ran a hand up and through his hair, lightly holding a handful of it as he moved to Sam’s jaw and then to his collar bone. He paused at the tattoo, running his teeth over the sensitive, marked skin before continuing a trail of slow kisses downward.

He settled his mouth below Sam’s naval, sucking at the skin and reddening it. His hands slid upward to the side of Sam’s waist, moving downward until he had his hips. Dean kept expecting the flood of regret to hit him, but Sam was so alright, and he was just… completely alright. More than alright. He looked up at Sam who was looking down at him and sucked on his skin until it left a little purple mark. “How ya doing up there?”

Sam couldn't believe this was happening. Dean had the same feelings for him that he'd been holding close for years, and now here he was on his knees in front of him fucking _mouthing_  him, and he was shirtless and warm and more than a little drunk and it was fucking glorious. So how was he doing? “Good. Really good.” He breathed out. He was resting a hand on his chest and trying to rub at a nipple without Dean noticing. He swallowed hard before asking, “You're gonna keep going, right?”

Privately, Dean had been waiting for him to ask. With someone else it might have been obvious what he was planning, but right now, with Sam, he wasn’t planning anything until Sam asked for it. Lucky for him, Sam had just asked.

Dean smirked devilishly, casually undoing Sam’s belt. “Welllll I guess I could, since I’m already down here n all.” He undid Sam’s jeans, his brother raising his hips a bit to help him pull them to his knees. He looked down at Sam, laying there in just his boxer briefs, and tilted his head. Either it was the lighting, or Sam was really packing it. Not wanting him to feel uncomfortable, he didn’t stare any longer. He moved his head down, rubbing his open mouth along the fabric stretched over his erection. Yeah, Jesus, he was. He grabbed his waist band and pulled it down.

“Damn,” Dean muttered lowly, wrapping his hand around Sam. “This here ain’t fair.” He smirked, running his tongue up from base to tip.

Sam gave a little grin at Dean's comment before tore his eyes from the sight in front of him to roll his head back, letting out a sound that would have been embarrassing if he hadn't been too far gone already to care. Seeing Dean like this just made him want it so much more. He hadn't been prepared for his brother to be this fucking eager and dirty. It crossed his mind that Dean might not be very experienced at this, but whether he was faking or not, Dean was doing great so far. “Have you done this before?” he asked, breathless. Sam looked back down to Dean, his head seeming impossibly heavy, and rocked his hips gently, almost accidentally, dick sliding against Dean's cheek a bit. He bit his lip as he waited for the answer.

Dean smirked, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s length to keep it still. He rubbed his thumb over the tip as he thought. Being this intoxicated, it was difficult for him to resist telling Sam just what type of guys he went after. But he managed for the moment, smiling to himself.

“Yeah I’ve done it, but I wouldn’t call myself an expert. Don’t expect anything fancy. And if you call me a ‘bitch’ I’ll punch you in the face.”

Dean propped himself up a bit, teasingly blowing air on Sam’s dick without touching it. A little suffering look in his face was enough to satisfy Dean before he wet his lips and went down on him. He slid his lips around him, opening his mouth as he went down as far as he could go. Sam’s hips moved and he grabbed onto them to keep them still. Sam was damn big and there was no fucking way Dean was going to fit it in his mouth. But like he’d said, nothing fancy from him. He raised his head and lowered it again, repeating the movement and finally pulling off with a pop. He watched Sam teasingly as he gave his hand a good, wet lick, wrapping it around the base of Sam’s cock. If he couldn’t fit his mouth down there he was going to give him _something_.

He thought about something and spoke, slowly moving his hand as he did so. “If you uh…” Dean’s face got a little red and he cleared his throat before rushing through it. “If you feel like using this anywhere else on me tonight, you should probably say something before I make you come.” Embarrassed, he went back to what he’d been doing, not looking him in the eye.

Sam froze completely. Did Dean just- he just offered Sam anal sex. Sex with his gorgeous older brother. In which said brother was at the receiving end of things. Sam's brain processed that for about 0.0658 seconds before responding, “Uhm, wha- What? Oh. Uh, yes? Yeah. I mean- fuck. Yeah let's- If you want to. I guess.” He covered his face with one large hand, blushing all the way to his collar bones. “Sorry.” He managed, still covering his face.

Dean made a stupid grin. Sam was so damn cute. “I take it that’s a ‘yes’.” He slid to the side a bit. “I was gonna… suck you off longer, but now I can’t wait.” He leaned toward his bag, which was lying on the floor closer to the other bed, but the more he reached the more his head began to spin. “Whoa,” he said, holding onto the bed carefully, “I’m kind of uh…” He deflated with a grumble, smacking Sam’s stomach. “Too drunk. You get my bag.”

Sam groaned. Of course. Having sex with Dean didn't change who he was. Not that he would have it any other way. But God this was embarrassing. Sam finished shucking his pants from around his legs, pulling his underwear back up to cover himself as he made his way to Dean's duffel. He walked it back to the bed, setting it in front of Dean. No way he was risking going through it himself. As Dean started to look through it for what they needed, Sam sat behind him on the bed. He started rubbing at Dean’s shoulders and arms, kissing the back of his neck. He was mostly taking the opportunity to calm his own nerves before things went any further. He was getting eager and wanted to make sure this lasted. However, his dick was telling him to hurry up.

“Mmm,” Dean murmured, leaning back a bit into the touches. Sam had strong hands and the attention made him want to turn around and kiss him more, but something pressing against his lower back motivated him to continue searching the bag. He finally pulled out a bottle of lube and pushed the bag to the floor. “Aright, pants off time.” Dean pushed himself back until he was leaning into Sam’s lap. He raised his hips, pushing off his jeans and underwear in one clumsy shove. He leaned forward and slid them off his ankles. He turned around, stark naked and grinning and pushed Sam back to kiss him. “Mmmm” he repeated, never getting enough of him. He was very hard, and lightly ground against his brother. “Tell me you want to fuck me.”

 “Christ, Dean.” Sam leaned in, kissing his brother hard and needy on the mouth. Fucking dirty talk already. Dean was really something else. And he was perfect. He grabbed his brother's dick without having to think twice about it, giving a squeeze and getting used to the feeling of it, thick and warm and heavy in his hand. He gave a few firm strokes as he broke away from Dean's mouth. He leaned in close to his ear to say, low and hot, “I do. I wanna fuck you.” he continued to knead Dean's dick in his hand, his thumb putting pressure on the frenulum. “Wanted this for so long.”

Dean’s head slumped against Sam’s chest, groaning as he was squeezed. Oh god. His hips moved but he resisted moving more than he already was. He let out a long breath and finally pushed himself up to straddle Sam. He swayed a bit, head heavy from the alcohol. Sam caught him by the waist and steadied him and Dean smirked. He shifted back until he had Sam’s cock between his legs and picked up the bottle of lube. If he wasn’t so stupid-drunk and horny he might have taken the time to use his fingers and prep himself, but he didn’t bother. He raised the bottle over Sam, pouring it on his length until it was dripping to the base. He wrapped his hand around it, listening to Sam’s sharp breath as he slicked him up. And then he poured on more and did it again, knowing the simple phrase from past experience that ‘more is better’. Always.

He dropped the bottle on the bed beside them and raised his hips, one hand pressed on Sam’s chest for support. Sam steadied him as he tried to keep balanced. He pressed himself down, working his hips and slowly sinking around it. With just the head in he stopped, taking a breath. His muscles were tightening and he had to force himself to relax. Relax, relax. “Give me a minute,” he ground out, eyes shut. After a few moments he moved, sliding down a little farther. “Jesus fuck…” he said, letting himself get used to it.

God damn, Sam wasn't expecting Dean to be so eager and willing. Surprised, but not disappointed, it was hard to keep from thrusting up into Dean while adjusted. He was so tight it almost hurt, and fuck was it hot, seeing his brother on top of him like this. All thoughts of Dean's judgment being impaired flew out the window- you don't ride your brother on a drunken whim. And how had he gone his whole life not knowing that Dean could take a cock like that? How much of Dean's life had he missed to not know this was an okay thing for him? Damn. Well, he was catching up now in the absolute best of ways.

Sam gripped his brother's thigh with one hand, and with the other, returned to stroking him, slower this time, looser. He had an idea of how this worked but was still eternally grateful that Dean was the one calling the shots. He'd never had something inside of him, but he imagined it wasn't very comfortable- at least at first, and especially the size Dean was taking now. He lifted the hand off of Dean's thigh, bringing it to his shoulder and guiding him into a kiss. “Are you ready?” he ground out, practically breathless.

Dean returned the kiss. “Let’s see.” He raised himself up a bit, slowly sinking farther. His mouth opened as he came down to the base, eyes sluggishly closing and opening again. He felt so full, Sam was so damn big but he already knew he was going to like it. He gazed lazily over his younger brother, hands sliding up over the muscles on his stomach and chest. Sam was ripped and delicious to look at, and for ages and ages he’d been looking and not touching. Now he could touch, and he planned on taking advantage of it.

He brought his hands back down to Sam’s hips, and finally began to move. He raised himself up until all but the tip was out, and slowly sunk down again. “Oh god…” he said quietly as he began to rock his hips in a steady rhythm. 

Dean's ass was fucking amazing. That was the thought in Sam's head as he started to move with Dean. Just a rock of the hips, really, but it increased the sensations nonetheless. Dean was making wonderful little gasps and sighs above him, and Sam wasn't exactly being quiet himself. He'd always been a little vocal in the bedroom, but now, with Dean as his partner, he was letting out noises that were downright embarrassing. He had to fight to keep from calling out too loud, should he wake the people in the next room. The creak of the bed underneath them was a welcomed sound as Dean moved over his body. Sam found Deans hand and laced their fingers together as the other held tight to a hip.

Dean broke out of his pleasure-induced daze, startled as he felt Sam’s hand holding his. He melted a little at the sight of it and looked at Sam. “Fuck,” he murmured, falling forward and kissing him hard. He kept moving his hips, riding him hard, his head dizzy each time he was filled. He squeezed Sam’s hand tighter, pressing another desperate kiss to his mouth. “I fucking love you, Sammy.”

Sam gasped, feeling a rush of love for his brother, wanting more. Wanting everything he could possibly get. He didn't care if he was being greedy, he had Dean now and he would never let that go. He pulled Dean to his body, kissing him deep and hard, it was a kiss with passion behind it. He flipped them over as gracefully as he could manage, still holding tight to Dean's hand. He pushed himself impossibly closer, deeper, breaking the kiss and panting hard, not thrusting yet, just resting on Dean, pressed close. He buried his head in Dean's neck. “I love you. Love you so much.” he brought their interlocked hands up so they rested near Dean's head before he began pumping his hips, each thrust a little faster than the one before.

Dean had forgotten how strong his brother was until he was being flipped onto his back, now staring up at him from where he was pressed into the mattress.   He closed his eyes as Sam purred into his ear, just what he wanted to hear so badly.

Then Sam began to roll his hips, and god almighty, the angle was so close to perfect. Dean’s mouth opened but he couldn’t make any noise, just staring up at Sam with wide eyes as he felt the thrusts. His speed increased and Sam pushed him up just a little more and there it was, and the silence was gone. “Oh god, oh god, fuuuuck, right there, right there, right…!” His free hand slammed against the comforter, fisting a handful of fabric. “Sam! Harder!”

Following Dean's orders, Sam started thrusting in earnest, careful not to lose his position. He put his free hand to Dean's head, running his fingers through short, soft, dirty blonde hair. His head in Dean's neck, he panted and moaned, marveling in how intimate this felt. How /good/ it felt. Dean's sighs and heavy breathing in his ear, his legs around him, the smell of leather and booze and sweat, it was all perfect. He couldn't focus on where Dean's hands were- it just felt like he was _everywhere_. Surrounding Sam and giving him everything he ever needed. “M'not gonna last, Dean. Fuck.”

“Uh huh,” Dean managed to say, though his vocabulary was getting smaller by the second. Fuck, his whole thought process was spiraling downward as Sam pounded into him. Dean moaned through gritted teeth as he felt it coming, like an imminent car collision… and then it hit. Both hands flew to Sam’s back, fingers digging into the thick muscle as tremors swept through his body. “Oh god! Oh god, Sammy, fuuuck!” His back arched up as he came, mouth open and silent as his head hit the mattress.

It was intense, feeling Dean come like that, gripping his back and tightening on his dick. It pushed Sam that last centimeter to the edge, rolling his hips once, twice, before he pulled out, thrusting into the joint of Dean's thigh and groin, dick pressed under his weight. The pressure was so nice between them as he shot on his brother's hip, smearing it messy and thick between their bodies. “Fuck- Dean-” he groaned as he slowed his thrusts to a stop. He relaxed his muscles, practically lying on Dean, recovering. He stroked his body, anywhere he could reach. He never wanted this feeling of closeness to end, but, upon hearing Dean's breathing become a little strained, he rolled off to one side. He looked down to the mess he made of Dean's abdomen and winced. “Sorry.”

“Huh, wha?” Dean turned, looking at Sam lazily. He was so exhausted that he could barely move. He raised a heavy arm to his stomach and immediately pulled it away, looking down at the white mess on him and smirked. “You came on me.” He chuckled stupidly, raising his hips and pulling the sheet out from under him and using it to wipe himself off. “I came on me too so whatever.” He tossed the top sheet off the side of the bed and rolled over to face Sam, curling up closer and tucking his head under his brother’s chin. “That should get thrown out.”

Sam laughed, pulling Dean closer to him and kissing him on his head. He reached over, grabbing the edge of the blanket that had been tossed aside and pulling it over them. He was just as spent as Dean, though his breathing was back to normal and the sweat cooled on his skin. He lazily rubbed his brother's back, his arm, his shoulder, his eyelids getting heavier by the second. “I think, maybe we should do that again sometime.” he suggested, hoping his brother would feel the same way, but not really thinking that he wouldn't. “And we should get some sleep. I think you're already drooling on me.”

“Mmh,” Dean murmured, already half asleep. His arm moved forward a few inches and he rested his hand on Sam’s waist, and then fell asleep completely. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Dean awoke to a throb in his head, a sharp pain from his forehead to the back of his neck, and he groaned. He’d had worse hangovers, but he wasn’t feeling exceptionally hot right now. That, and he didn’t remember drinking much, or remember much of anything after buying the liquor. He shifted a little and felt a heavy arm over him. Had he been with a guy? He shifted just a bit more and felt stubble against his forehead. Yep. Dean opened his eyes and stared at the chest in front of him. His vision was blurry and he narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the dark shape on the other’s chest. Slowly it came into focus and he stared at the pentagram with the…

His eyes shot open and he froze. There was no way, no fucking way. He looked up, still wide eyed, and inched back to get a look at the other’s face. It was Sam, fast asleep. Dean looked down and around, his pulse pounding harder and harder the more he saw. He was definitely stark naked and wrapped up in naked Sam too.

“Sam?” he murmured as he gingerly pulled the blanket up to cover himself. Sam didn’t stir and he repeated himself. “Sam…? SAM!”

Sam woke with a start, sitting up quickly, saw Dean next to him in nothing but a thin motel blanket, and effectively propelled himself of the side of the bed, falling right on his ass. Shit, shit, shit. Dean didn't remember, it was a stupid drunken mistake after all. Fuck. He risked a peek over the edge of the bed, looking at Dean with an apologetic expression. “I'm sorry, I am so sorry. You were drunk and I thought- no- I didn't think. Shit.” He stood quickly, striding over to his duffel, “I'm sorry.”  he said again before grabbing it and shutting himself in the bathroom. Probably not the best or most mature reaction- but he didn't know what else to do. How exactly _do_ you react to waking up next to your own brother _the morning after_? And what could he possibly tell Dean to make this okay?

Dean stared at the bathroom door, even more shocked than he’d been when he woke. When Sam was asleep he had an easier time thinking he was crazy, but that Sam seemed pretty real. He blinked, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and sitting there, lost. His head throbbed and he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember.

A flash of memory returned, as quick as one could open and close their eyes, and he could remember shouting. He could remember himself crumbling apart as his brother sat there wide eyed. He saw Sam stand up and soon he was pressing him against the dresser. He could taste him now, oh god.

Dean opened his eyes and rubbed his hand against his mouth. He stood, gathering up the blanket and haphazardly wrapping it around his waist. It trailed behind him as he walked to the bathroom and stared at the door. He knocked hard. “Sam, we need to talk.”

He waited about two seconds before testing the door. It was unlocked. He opened it and barged in, grabbing the blanket and yanking it in after him. The bathroom was small, leaving only a little room between them. Sam had managed to put on his pants and stood there looking miserable as all hell.

Dean stared at him. “So… I came in drunk, ran the mouth, and then we um…” His jaw clenched and he looked to the side. “I’m coming to the conclusion that you and I… that we… had… sex.” He looked at Sam for confirmation.

Meeting Dean's eyes, Sam nodded, looking away from his quickly, but a desperate apology remained in his expression. When he spoke, it was fast and unsure and apologetic, “I'm sorry. We both had a few drinks and... and then you said some things and I said some things and it just kind of... happened.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh and looking at the floor. He was starting to feel a little sick. Worry clutched his heart, making his chest ache. It felt like he might actually cry.

Dean stared blankly. He felt a lump forming in his throat before he spoke. “Sammy, did I take advantage of you?”

Sam's head snapped up so fast he was fairly sure he had cracked something in his neck. “No! No, of course not!” he paused a moment, considering. “ _That’s_ what you're worried about? We had sex, Dean. Christ. Aren't you... mad at me?”

Dean straightened up. “No, I’m not mad. Look…” Dean sighed, brows knitted together. “Apparently we were drunk and maybe you made some impulsive decisions, but…” Dean struggled, the words caught in his throat. This was so hard. “Whatever… whatever I said, I probably meant it. I’m sorry, but I did probably, really mean it. I know I’ve got some fucking problems and I’ve been, I’ve been trying to deal with them on my own for a long time. I never meant for you to find out. This is entirely my fault, okay Sam? Jesus, I am so sorry.”

Dean had meant everything he said? The tightness in his gut let up, he felt like he could breathe a little easier. It only took a second to come to the conclusion he definitely had meant everything he'd said. He had loved Dean for a long time, and, yep, still did. He felt embarrassed for hiding in the bathroom. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Sam let his tense muscles relax a little, taking a deep breath. “It's okay, Dean. I said some things, too. And... I meant it.” he looked Dean in the eye, hoping his message would be clear. After a pause, both still standing awkwardly in the small bathroom, he asked, "What happens now?"

Gripping his blanket, Dean stared. His heart was hammering in his chest, absolutely overwhelmed internally. He kept calm outwardly, but he couldn’t believe, just… could not believe this was real. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it, and then repeated that again.

“I guess what happens now… is I go take a shower since I feel like I have, you know, all over me.”

Dean’s face went red and he turned to the shower, climbing in and throwing the blanket on the floor once the curtain was shut. He turned on the hot water, his pulse still racing as he stood beneath it.

He heard the bathroom door creak and finally called out. “Sam, I… I don’t think it’s fair that you can remember and I can’t.”

Sam paused, staring at the shower in disbelief. His heart started beating faster. Dean... wanted him to tell him about it? “Y-yeah, okay.” He leaned against the wall beside the shower, not really sure where to start. “You came home pretty late, and you seemed... bothered. And then we finished off a bottle of whiskey. That's when we started talking, and I don't know, it just went from there.” he paused, thinking carefully how to word what came next.

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning against the side of the shower and crossing his arms. “Yeah, I remember that much.” He cleared his throat. “Was it… any good?”

“Oh, uh-” Well, if Dean was asking he must want to know the truth. “It was... intense.” Sam took a moment and gathered his courage. “It was good.” he put a hand over his face. “Honestly, it was- it might have been the best- like, ever. For me.” he was pretty sure he was blushing all the way down to his neck now.

Dean’s mouth hung open. He pulled back the shower curtain and peeked at Sam, convinced he was messing with him. But there he was with his hand on his face, flush running all the way down to his collar bone. Dean’s eyes lingered for a second on Sam’s bare chest and stomach, and back up to his flushed face.

He quickly shut the curtain before Sam opened his eyes and got back under the water, turning it to cold as he took a breath. Damn, his ridiculously hot brother was embarrassed over apparently having had ‘intensely good, possibly best-ever’ sex with him. And then despite his efforts, a smug grin pulled onto his face.

“Huh,” Dean finally responded, trying to keep an even tone. He picked up the bar of hotel soap and began sudsing up, scrubbing the dried mess off his stomach and hip. “I guess it’s really too bad I can’t remember…”

Dean was acting weird. Repeating himself? What the hell? Sam was telling him about it before he interrup- Oh. Ohhhh. Sam straightened up in realization, looking at the shower curtain like it would give him all the answers to the universe right now. Or at least tell him to get in the fucking shower. He pulled the curtain aside a bit. Dean had a smirk on his face but just kept washing himself. With a huff, Sam let go of the curtain and pushed his pants around his ankles. He paused, deciding, then pushed open the curtain and stepped inside. He was behind Dean now, and laid his hands on his shoulders, ducking down to kiss his neck hesitantly.

Oh god, Dean was not prepared when he caught sight of Sam stepping into the shower. He faced forward quickly. What had he gotten himself into? He closed his eyes when he felt hands on his shoulders, and melted when he felt Sam’s mouth on his neck. He leaned back, head tilting just a little off to the side. And then Sam was against him, that warm mouth working on his skin.

Dean turned around, twisting his fingers into Sam’s damp hair. He pressed his forehead to the other’s, breathing heavily as they looked at each other.

Yeah, getting in was definitely the right move. Dean was already breathing heavy and Sam wasn't doing much better. He let out a small sound of contentment as he wrapped his arms around Dean and brought their mouths together. The warm water felt nice on his skin, relaxing away any remaining worries- for the time being. He kissed Dean slow and firm, the intimacy reminding him of the night before. He broke the kiss and laid his head against his brother's. “You're such an asshole.” he said, with so much affection it could have meant, 'I love you'.

Fin.


End file.
